


Reunion

by snowbryneich



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:23:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbryneich/pseuds/snowbryneich
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Sansa lost her Lord Commander and gained him again. Written as a pinch hit for round 3 of got_exchange for the prompt Sansa/Jaime - she's Queen in the North, he's her Lord Commander</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

The rebuilding of Winterfell had been a slow process. For those who had known the castle before there would always be scars of the Ironborn invasion. Of the fire. The stains left by smoke had been scored away with much effort but some of the stone still showed dark. And the new beams and supports and furniture had been stained. But it would never be the old dark wood it had been. 

Sansa found once she had settled that she did not mind the scars. They all had scars. She felt she had scars upon scars now – the losses of her childhood lost under yet another abandonment. But she had survived the scars and so had Winterfell – it was still home. When she was not holding court or speaking with the maester or figuring the accounts she found her haunts much the same. The glass gardens, the Sept. Places she could find a modicum of privacy. Where she found she could miss someone who had never belonged at Winterfell just as much as she missed her lost family. 

She went to the godswood often but never alone, her safety could not be risked so. She had no Queensguard, the old King's in the North had never had a Kingsguard and Sansa needed no southron traditions in the North – not after the hard fought freedom bargained from the Targaryens. There had been a time when she had planned one, but that had been another foolish dream. A way to try and keep someone she had never truly had. A girlish dream when she should have been well past them. She should have learned that lesson. She had now.

Of course she has guards anyway. Just no knights. No vows. Merely those she can trust and those she would keep close. The latest to join her guard was Lyanna Mormont, newly come from Bear Island when she turned eight and ten. The gruff girl reminded Sansa of Arya in a way that made her wistful. Val the wildling Princess, whom Jon Snow had entrusted to Sansa on his way south to join his other family had made herself a guard instead of being guarded and Sansa had not argued. The other places on the guard were filled by younger Northern sons who had been sent to court her and had instead been given places at court that suited Sansa if not their ambitions. But they had taken the places in her court - such as it was - rather than return home with nothing. They all wanted to be close if she should change her mind and want a husband. 

Sansa had no intention of changing her mind and had made it clear she did not mean to marry again. She had no reason to. Neither of her marriages had been happy ones and one of them had barely been a marriage. The happiest time she had spent with a man was the time she had spent on the road with Jaime Lannister pretending they were a common Hedgeknight and his family making for the Riverlands. Until they had turned North and changed their story. But she had her heirs – the three children she had born Harry the Heir. Brandon, Eddard and little Catelyn were healthy and hale and more importantly _hers_ for all that she would have to let Ned take the Arryn name when he was of an age to claim the Eyrie. 

Harry had not lived to see Catelyn born thanks to Littlefinger who had arranged an accident on a hunt almost as soon as Sansa had made known her third pregnancy. An heir, an heir and a spare on the way had been sufficient in his opinion. Sansa did not mourn her husband. Drunken and boorish, he had begun their marriage angry he'd had to lower himself to wed a bastard. When he'd known who she truly was he'd been angry of her higher birth. But despite her lack of fondness she had done her duty and avenged him. Petyr Baelish had been pushed out the moondoor by her own hands not long after. She had wanted him gone before she was brought to the bloody bed. Childbirth was dangerous for a woman and she would not have had Petyr Baelish left as the protector of _her_ children. She remembered clearly how Sweetrobin had died. But she had not born Catelyn in the Eyrie after all - she had had help to leave the Eyrie from a most unexpected source. Jaime Lannister had took her home when the winter was done, fulfilling a vow he'd made to her mother. Of course at the time Sansa had thought it more than the vow. She had thought Jaime felt as she did. And now that she tried not to think of at all, she _missed_ him. 

When she went to the Godswood she always went with Lyanna or Val. The men would be her valiant guards when in the castle and the sight and earshot of others. Sansa knew better than to expect this to be the same when alone. Those who clamoured for her to marry again could guard her from the other side of a door she could bar. 

Because of this Val had attempted to teach her knife fighting when she'd first arrived and Sansa had surprised herself by her attempts to learn. Attempts were the only words for it, Sansa could not parry nor throw a knife. Not had she picked up footwork no matter how Val told her it was close to dancing. In fact Sansa had felt more likely to stab herself than anyone who came near and eventually Val had pronounced her useless and advised that she entice a man close before stabbing him and had shown her the best way to avoid having the knife get caught on the ribs. That had made Sansa feel more than a little ill. But still she kept the dagger close though she was no more confident with it. She had used the poisons left by Petyr to made the blade more lethal, perhaps she could not fight off an attacker with it successfully but she could have it cost them their life too. 

On the spring day she actually had to use the knife, it came easier to her than expected. Little Cat had had a mild fever that had broken and after keeping vigil over her daughter's bedside Sansa had come to the Godswood to give thanks. While she knelt in prayer Val had paced impatiently – she kept the Old gods of course but she was not pious nor made for prayer, she claimed. 

Sansa had known the tread was not Val's from the first footstep – too heavy she knew and felt a brief pride in the knowledge even as she bit back panic and unsheathed the dagger. When a hand fell heavily on her shoulder, she squirmed away turning and stabbing blindly at her attacker. She connected heavily with the man knocking him to the ground and still managed to miss her thrust completely as he grabbed her wrist and rolled them so she was pinned beneath him – she looked up into the green eyes of Jaime Lannister and dropped the dagger in surprise. 

She had barely breathed his name in surprise when it became apparent that Val had not been as far as it seemed. Sansa winced as Val's boot connected with Jaime's skull and his eyes rolled up before he could say a word. Val shoved him off her and only Sansa's shout stopped Val's much more well aimed knife. “No,” she said firmly putting herself between Val and Jaime's unconscious form. “He's a “ she cut off – she had no idea what word to use to described Jaime. He was not a friend though he had saved her, not an ally – he was still a Lannister and his help had only lasted until she'd been brought to Winterfell. But that she could term in a way Val would understand. “He stole me once,” Sansa said softly, “he brought me home.” Val's eyes widened as she realised who it was. 

“Then he left you,” Val said sharply and Sansa nodded quiet. Val kicked Jaime again a vicious blow to the stomach that near brought him round. Val had not forgiven Jon for going south and was inclined to blame include any nearby man for his share of the blame for the failings of Jon in particular. “Mayhaps you should steal him this time,” Val told her. “Men like to do the same stupid thing twice.” She stalked off as Jaime sat up coughing and Sansa went to his side, suppressing her shock and biting back questions about why he had come back – she did not really understand why he had left in the first place. 

She helped him to his feet and looked him over. He was thinner than he should be, dressed in the most plain clothes marked with mud if not worse and there was a trickle of blood in his hair where Val had kicked him. “Fine northern hospitality,” he said, his voice hoarse, “How I've missed it.” Sansa could have slapped him – when he'd brought her and her sons home when she was heavy with child she had fought for his right to stay against all the lords who called for his head on a pyke. He'd been there when Cat was born and nursed and then just before her daughter turned one, Daenerys Targaryen had taken the throne and Jaime had chosen to go south to answer for his crimes.Yet he would have a bruises enough off Val so instead she kissed him which only made him wince anyway though he kissed her back regardless. 

But he did not seem entirely steady on his feet and Sansa pulled back concerned to answer him “I'm sure it would have grown on you,” she reproached unable to help herself. “If you had not left.” She had wept bitter tears over his departure – at least in private sure Daenerys would kill him and thought it had been a relief when Daenerys had instead exiled him. Sansa had been sure she would never see him again. “Let's get you to the Maester.” 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The maester had pronounced Jaime healthy enough once his head had been stitched. But he'd dosed him with dreamwine to get him to keep still for this and there was nothing to do but to put him to bed after that. 

Jaime had objected claiming he wanted to see the children but Sansa had overruled it. Her sons had spent more time with Jaime on the meandering journey north than they ever had with Harry who'd been proud to brag of his sons but entirely uninterested in them otherwise. And of course they'd called him Father to help with the lie which had only had them further attached. If Jaime meant to make Winterfell as stop on his way to exile, Sansa would not let him upset her children. They did not need to know he was here at all. 

Brandon had been old enough to ask if Jaime had left because they were not his true children like Cat was, something Sansa had had to discourage him for thinking for it was not a rumour she wanted spread. She was not sure she's succeeded in making him see the truth. She had been sharing Jaime's bed and bed roll on the way home by the time her belly had started to show and Brandon was yet too young to understand she'd been with child some time before it had shown. But she had firmly impressed on him that he was not to speak on it at least and if it came to it she would darken Cat's hair when she was older. Her experience as Alayne made her certain she would not have her children called bastards. 

When she heard Jaime was awake she went to him, he was dressed and out of bed at the window. When she joined him she saw he was watching the children cross across the yard on a walk before bed, the boys had to be tired out before they would sleep and Cat refused to be left out. She at once attempted to draw him away – they would only have to look up to see him – Cat would not remember but the boys would. 

“What next?” he asked letting her lead him away. “I've barely arrived and I've been stabbed at and kicked, sewn up and drugged. You'll be inflicting your cooking on me next.” Sansa flushed annoyed and embarrassed all at once. The first time she had cooked for them on the road, Jaime had forced down the burned food but the boys had cried at the thought. But she would not allow him to wrong foot her. 

“You cannot see the children,” she told him bluntly. “It will only upset them again when you leave. Whatever else you need to go into exile I will give you gladly,” she owed him that much for bringing her home no matter what he had promised her mother. 

“Go into exile?” Jaime said sounding almost amused which only wore on her nerves right now – his resilient manner had kept her steady once but now she only felt mocked and stepped away, composing herself to ask him to leave. Politely. His smile falter and he looked uncertain. “Sansa, sweet, I think you will find I am already there.” 

She did lose her temper then but she would not raise her voice, her voice was ice and cool as she demanded of him. “Do not mock me, you _left_ me. _Left_ us to make your amends to Daenerys Targaryen. And now you come back as if your sentence means nothing. Why go south at all if you care so little for the Dragon Queens' commands.” 

He closed the gap between them and slipped his good hand into her hair tilting her face to look at him. “I swore to never again set foot on lands ruled by the Targaryens and gave up my golden hand so I would not be a threat.” He swallowed, “Daenerys no longer rules the North. It's yours now. She cannot exile me from a country she does not rule.” He paused and admitted. “But I care for her orders only so I would never be reason for quarrel between you. I don't care two figs for Mad Aerys' daughter and you know I am not sorry I killed him. It was not my crimes against her I felt I had to answer for.” 

Sansa had thought she had known that. Until he left. His finest deed he had called it. Sansa was called a Kingslayer herself and did not care but then for her it was not actually true. She _had_ wished Joffrey dead and no-one had believed her when she denied it so she had long ago stopped. 

“Then who?” she asked as his face darkened and she realised. “Tyrion,” she said quietly. She had known of course that Tyrion had come back with Daenerys from the East. He nodded then all humour gone. His brother had clearly not forgiven him and the silence hung heavy between them for a moment before Jaime spoke. 

“He has agreed that Tommen will be his heir,” Jaime said. “And it was him who persuaded Daenerys to let him live.”

Sansa had not seen Tommen in years but he had been a gentler soul than Joffrey. The young King had been just shy of his sixteenth name day when Daenerys had taken back the Iron Throne. So as he had not yet come of age, she had merely executed the Small Council, declared him a bastard and sent him to Casterly Rock which she had granted to Tyrion. 

Tyrion she had heard from just once. A raven when he had heard his brother was at Winterfell. His letter had been full of poison and accusations. He had addressed it to his lady wife and pointed out that at his word her second marriage was invalid and her children bastards. Sansa had burned it without response and when her title as Queen in the North had been confirmed by the North's independence, she quietly written decrees of legitimacy for her children. Just in case. 

Still he was Jaime's brother and had saved Tommen's life so she did not speak against him. “That was kind,” she said. “Tommen will be a good lord. Better than most,” better than Joffrey she meant but Jaime's eldest son was one thing they had never spoken on. 

“I wanted to bring Tommen with me,” Jaime said after a long moment and Sansa realised Tyrion had not claimed his nephew out of kindness after all. It was spite. There were no words for to make that better so she offered him what she could. She went to him and kissed him again hard, and startling herself with the burst of desire that went through her now they were properly alone and as he lifted her from her feet and carried her to the bed. 

It had been this way between them since the first night they had properly shared on the road. Back then Sansa had been waiting for him to want something from her. Every man who helped her wanted something and she had steeled herself to the possibility of bedding him easily enough by telling herself that Ser Jaime would not think of her mother when he took her as Petyr had or treat her like a whore with his demands as Harry had done. She had first kissed Jaime in an abandoned farmhouse they'd taken refuge in only to be pushed away and reminded of the vow he had made to her mother. 

She had spent a fortnight worrying after that, unsure and frightened for herself and her children. Vows were nothing. Words were wind. If he wanted something from her he was much more sure to help them. Desire faded of course but surely if she could only make him want her, she could keep Ser Jaime's interest until they got North. 

He had caught her weeping one night from worry and had made an awkward attempt to comfort her. That was when Sansa had known. Cersei Lannister had once told her that her best weapon was between her legs – not her tears, but it had seemed her tears were much more effective on Jaime. 

Once in the Eyrie ,Myranda Royce had been told her was more beautiful when she was vulnerable – it had annoyed Sansa. When was she not vulnerable? She barely remembered a time before. But she tried that then, soothing and kind with the children and suitably meek and grateful for Jaime's aid whenever she could. 

One night when they had been huddled together for warmth despite Jaime's reluctance and she had told him what Petyr had told her. That life was not a song, she had laughed against his chest then. “This is almost a song,” she said. “But if it were I'd be a maid and you would want me, like I want you.” He had kissed her then and she'd been startled by the affect he'd had on her so that most of what followed had not been an act. She'd clung to him as he took her and it was only after he was inside her that she remembered. Cersei had told her once that wanting to be loved was a sickness, one Sansa shared with her brother Tyrion. It seemed Tyrion was not the only Lannister who wanted to be loved. After that it had been easier to know what to do with Jaime. 

They'd reached back at Winterfell when Sansa realised she was no longer pretending. Jaime had fought their way back north, protected her children and shared her bed every night. He was not respectful or proper or easy but he made her laugh, and she had seen – clearly seen the doubt in his eyes that she would want him still now she was home and safe and surrounded by those who would protect her because of her name and her blood. But Jaime had come to her because of a promise, and was the first man who did not want her claim as well as her body. She had ignored everyone who had demanded he be asked to leave and heavy with child her lords had had to listen to her, insisting amongst themselves her attachment to the Kingslayer was some queer fit brought on by pregnancy.

But she had carried on insisting after Catelyn was born and it had became understood that Jaime's presence would be tolerated if she did not wed him. Sansa had taken what she could, by then she knew enough to know Jaime would not have wed her anyway. He was a Kingsguard without a King but he had his vows. His presence had been enough for her. - at least until he had left. 

But he was back now and he was here and he held her securely against him with his right arm as his left hand undid her laces then his. His weight had her pinned against the bed. She gasped at the feel off his mouth on her breasts and breathed his name like a mantra until he lifted her skirts and pushed into her, she held tightly to him as he moved against her. 

When they were done she curled up beside him, his head was bleeding again – she must have dislodged a stitch when she tangled her hands in his hair. But he held her too tightly for her to leave and fetch the Maester and she let him. “Don't leave again,” she told him quietly but Jaime merely held her against him and soon his breathing evened and Sansa realised he was asleep.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

In the morning she woke before him and smiled at the sight of him – he had filched most of the furs in the night and all that was visible was half his face and shock of blonde hair. She lay there watching him sleep for a long time. His lack of response last night troubled her some but she would not ask of him a promise he could not keep. She knew how he felt about vows. He was here now. That could be enough couldn't it? She wasn't sure but mayhaps it would have to be. She slipped out of bed and pulled on her rumpled dress. 

“What's that,” Jaime mumbled from the bed, startling her. “Bored of watching me drool into the pillow already?” 

She threw a pillow at him with a laugh. “As entertaining as your snoring is, I have to see to the children's breakfast. Cat won't eat if I'm not there.” 

Jaime looked hopeful for a moment then resigned and Sansa felt a pang. Perhaps he had promised her nothing but he would not stay if she did not give him reason to. “I'll send someone with decent clothing for you,” she said. “You cannot eat join us dressed like an outlaw.” Jaime looked startled before he smiled and Sansa went to tell the boys he was back. He _wanted_ to stay. For now that could be enough.


End file.
